


A Certain Secret Someone

by ByronicHeroics



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicHeroics/pseuds/ByronicHeroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five abilities Brandt has that surprises the team. Written for the Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Secret Someone

I.  
Brandt loves fashion. While the rest of the team spend their free time in the hotel, with a bottle of whiskey, talking about their dream lives if they just could do anything and didn’t have this strange addiction to their current careers. Jane would be an architect such as Frank Lloyd Wright, Ethan a large animal veterinarian (such as James Herriot), and Benji thinks they’re all crazy for acting like they don’t enjoy playing James Bond and says “Hell, I’d still do this.” They all are silent for a moment for a moment after that, and they turn to look at where Brandt lies on the bed, expectant, hopeful, maybe wanting to hear him talk about how he wishes he had never left the Army. 

He flips to another glossy page in his magazine instead; Valentino’s spring collection looks more promising than this discussion. He isn’t going to be able to change his job, but the wardrobe he has is starting to get a little bit 2009. No one wears Armani’s dress shirts anymore, because the collars get a funny bend to them quickly in their line of work, and Ethan pops the top button off of the ones he borrows regularly. Brandt is not really a big fan of the soft pastel pinstripes worked into the weaving (Sorry, Tim Gunn), but he loves the inside pattern on the jacket. Women shouldn’t monopolize interesting lining.

None of the team really makes anything of how many copies of GQ and Vogue Brandt keeps around, and Benji decided to be a good person for his New Year’s resolutions, and so doesn’t ask him about all the fashionista twitters he follows. There’s something else he’s not going to ask him about because, Field Agent or Chief Analyst, his obsession with shoes seems to rival Jane’s lust for bigger guns. It’s boarding on fetish, and Benji hates him a little bit after spending forty-five minutes looking at designer loafers in Prague. (They’re made of baby animals, and somehow, that doesn’t endear them to the man.)

It all comes in handy in the end, because for all the fashion magazines, designer websites, and alterations he’d paid attention to, he is the only person who notices that their target is not who they think he is, because he is wearing the wrong sort of suit. Armando Molinelli has an odd habit of wearing Chanel’s designs for men, and that tendency catches Brandt’s eye. A man who loved such an androgynous cut to his suit would never be caught dead in a cookie cutter style plain black suit, but even less likely was the Zara double breasted monstrosity that his doppelganger was wearing. 

No one ever teases Brandt about watching runway shows after that.

II.  
It’s cold in the outskirts of Amsterdam in December, and that comes as no surprise to anyone on the team. It may be an oceanic climate, but it is Winter never the less, and the safehouse they are staying in is older than Jesus and has no interior heating past the large sputtering gas stoves. Jane fumes when she has to hang her snow covered gloves above one with a string to dry them out properly, and watches as Brandt lights up a bowl. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to be smoking, and she told him so, but Benji was all together on his side and insisted that it would actually be out of the norm not to smoke marijuana while they were there. Notably, he said this as he took the swirled black and silver glass pipe from Brandt’s hand.

Ethan is far too paranoid to let his defenses be taken from him like that, and the smoke in the room makes him nervous, but he doesn’t care what they do, so leaves them to their fun to take a shower and wash away some of his tension. “Are you just not scared of being entirely helpless?” Jane finally asks Brandt when he takes another slow long hit off of the pipe, exhaling the smoke through his nose. “No, I’m the analyst,” He reminds her, and she wants to hit him for still being so eager to say that. “So if I get in a rough spot, either you or Ethan takes care of me.” Benji nods in agreement with the damsel in distress sentiment, and they both sit back on the old ransacked couch to finish their bowl despite the agent’s displeasure. 

It was only five minutes later that Ethan returned from the bathroom, remarkably dry, disgruntled and angry at the whole team because he can’t get the water to run no matter how long he waits for it. Past a mouthful of Amarelli Sassolini – Ethan isn’t sure how high you’d have to be to eat a handful of candy coated licorice with that vigor – Brandt tells him something that seems remarkably obvious. “The basement isn’t heated so the pipes froze.” He explains to him, and he takes another grey-blue lumpy blob of candy out of the package and pops it in his mouth before handing the box to Benji , who giggles and looks through them to find a coral colored piece. “I can fix it.” Brandt offers.

Jane rolls her eyes; because maybe he didn’t understand what type of pipe they were talking about at this point since he didn’t strike her as exactly a handyman when it came to anything outside of tailoring a vest. “Can I use your blow dryer?” He asks her, and she motions him to go ahead because she won’t have any use for it if the pipes aren’t working, will she? He goes into the basement then with the shiny black blow dryer, and after five minutes of whatever magic he’s doing down there, the sound of the showing sputtering to a start can be heard. Ethan and Jane meet each other’s eyes in matching images of shock; Benji giggles.

Brandt hands the blowdryer back to Jane when he comes upstairs, and he sits down beside Benji once more to take another piece of the candy to eat, looking at the box intently before he speaks again. “We’ll have to leave it dripping from now on, or it’ll stick again and that might burst the pipe.” He informs them and Ethan nods in acceptance quietly before returning to the bathroom. He won’t argue with it, and he doesn’t care how it works since it does. Jane, however, is more inquisitive, and she throws herself down on the couch beside him and takes a piece of licorice; chewing it with distaste. “How do you know that?” She finally asks Brandt, and she hands him the lighter when he reaches for it and misses.

“Lived on a farm.” He replies with a shrug, and lights the bowl. 

III.   
The excuse for knowing handyman work he had given Jane had seemed unbelievable at first, if just because of his city taste in suits, and his disdain for dirt of any and every sort. He was always narrowing his eyes at the mud on the bottom of those (poor little bitty) deer loafers, giving them low displeased sounds at the flat fold out metal or lumpy old office chairs that he ended up using to help Benji with computer work. “They really do make your bum go numb.” Benji had agreed, because for a good minute there, he was starting to forget about those baby loafers and think that Brandt was on his side again (nerds have to stick together.)

It had finally been accepted as not necessarily a lie by none other than Ethan Hunt, and two palomino horses. They had been hunched over in the dark, beside a barn of fair size, trying to not be caught by several huge and angry men with shot guns and possible cannibalistic feelings towards anyone who was not from their immediate and very short family twig. Brandt was clutching the briefcase to his chest (“Really?” He had gasped when Ethan had thrown it to him. “The world is relying on a suitcase hidden in The House of a Thousand Corpses?”) and leaning against the graying wood wall while he tried to gather his thoughts.

There had been a very pointed explosion of their gas tank already to make them have to reconsider the whole “run back down to the gravel road that led to the dirt road which led to the creepy incestuous freaks and drive away very fast” plan. Ethan had been looking around and pushing away the horse reaching over to nuzzle at his shoulder when Brandt had suggested it. “We could just take the horses; Manson family or not, those are way too expensive to shoot.” He had whispered and Ethan had stared at him like he was crazy. He had wanted to say something in response to the overly optimistic plan, but instead he had just nodded. “It won’t give us away because they’ll think the horses are running in the opposite direction of us.” Brandt added.

“Okay.” Ethan agreed.

Which is how they had ended up with horses in the middle of their ridiculous hobby-farm hideout in Bumfuck Nowhere Kentucky. “Make it stop, please.” Benji had whispered as he tried to put down the oats and weird grey pellets for the horses, because they wouldn’t stop nibbling him and snorting in displeasure. Brandt had finally cracked a smile when his friend put his hand on the horse’s nose in an attempt to get at least arm’s length distance between them and the constant evil eye he was receiving. Whether or not, Benji loved animals of all sorts, sent a ten percent tithe to the ASPCA instead of a church, and talked about how much he’d like to own a pet cat, he had not been able to win over the horses to save his life. They had just taken a dislike to him from the moment they laid eyes on him and seemed determined that nothing would change their minds.

“Don’t let them tell you what to do. They’re horses and they will push you if you let them, because when it comes down to it, they weigh a thousand pounds and can kick your teeth in if they want to, and you only have brains to outwit them.” Brandt had said, and he guided Benji to his side before pointing at the beautiful pale golden mare. “She’s angry right now; see how she puts her ears back to tell you that?” He guided, and he waited till his partner had nodded his head to continue. “Make her love you.” He instructed. “Go up and kiss her and pat her cheeks. Then stroke her mane and rub behind her ears.” Brandt guided, and Benji took a long deep breath before doing as he was told. He was pretty sure he was going to come back from that attempt without a finger, but hey, maybe Brandt knew what he was talking about it when it came to horse relationships at least. “Hey, Peppy…” Benji said gently and he reached out to take the horse’s face, stroking her face carefully. She pulled away and put her ears back, snorting at him once more.

“Pull her back and make her take it.” Brandt urged Benji, rolling his eyes when his friend laughed at the unintended innuendo. Yeah, that’s what he said. The horse however, finally gave in with the repeatedly maniacal petting attempts of the agent, and after several more weeks of the case, Peppy had decided that Benji was as close to a human god as she could imagine. As many apples as he brought her and Louie had to mean something, even if the other human had to show him that thumbs in the way for treats meant thumbs in horses stomachs. After a while, she even let Benji help Brandt work on the horse blanket and dully ignored the question that her favorite human asked the other one. Louie, however, was not nearly as well bred as her, and snorted in delight at seeing his human glower in distaste at it. 

“So…was Black Beauty your favorite book as a kid?” Benji inquired, as they finished snapping the latches to attach the blanket and Brandt moved forward to slide the hood over the mare’s head. “I said that I lived on a farm.” He reminded the other man, and yet he wasn’t the slightest surprised at Benji’s reply. “Yeah, but it’s still kind of a surprise. I thought you were kidding about it. I mean you didn’t really expect anyone to believe it, right?” No, he really hadn’t; even if it was the truth.

IV.  
Brandt has Jane put her hands on the vanity and hold tight to it when he laces up her corset. She groaned audibly when he put his foot on her lower back and leaned back to pull it as tight as possible; she hadn’t had someone do that since she used to dress up for those stupid fucking theater classes in college that never got her anywhere close to a stage. At least she learned how to act, she tells herself, because she needs that for her job. She can barely breathe for that brief moment when his fingers come up under the laces to adjust them and her body tries to get used to the feeling of the heavy cotton and stiff boning pressing against her by struggling. Her breasts ache from the corset digging in so tightly under them and she had to rest a hand on the vanity still as he tied the laces into a knot that she hopes she can undo and then tucks them into the bottom of it.

“You make a beautiful bride.” Brandt informs her as she finally drops herself slowly to sit on the vanity seat, and she gives him a clear cut look of distaste; he’s been enjoying this a bit too much. He’s not so bad at reading human emotion that he doesn’t use that moment avoid her gaze by turning to the closet to find her wedding dress, hung on a special velvet covered hanger as if she was interested in putting it on. “Why am I the only person who ever has to get married as part of our mission?” Jane inquires and stands up again to let the man help her into the sea of white material, smoothing it down with his hands as it falls over her. He makes the motion for her to turn again and she does so, bracing her hands against the table for a second time as he buttons up the back of the dress slowly and surely. “Because he wasn’t taken with Ethan.” Brandt reminds her and he kneels down to fasten the ties to create her bustle, his hands quickly finding all the right ribbons to pull it into the correct folds.

“I bet he’d be taken with you.” Jane finally says as she begins to get hot enough from the thick fabric that she appreciates the blow of the little metal fan on the vanity he turned on while he curled her hair into this ridiculously prissy style. “You can do hair like a beast, make-up better than I can, and you know how to tie the bustle to a wedding dress without instructions.” She was hoping that he would volunteer information about that without further prompting, but instead he picks up her veil and attaches it to the back of her hair, running his hand down the tulle to correct the way it lays. “I don’t have the needed curves; those camping trips might have just been camping trips.” He informs her with amusement, and she looks into the mirror just long enough to wish for a moment that this could have ever been with a certain handsome agent. She swallows, and buries that grief for another day when she has time to be sad. Happy tears look all together different and she can’t indulge in her own misery.

“Is that how you learned all this?” Jane inquires to distract herself, and Brandt shakes his head to dismiss the thought even before she finishes. He knows where that joke is going. “On all those camping trips?” She inquires, and he reaches forward to pull the blusher down over her face so he doesn’t have to stare at her interested gaze quite so completely as he replies. “My mother fell from a horse, it startled and stepped backwards on to her, and she was paralyzed afterwards.” Brandt explains easily as if he isn’t talking about a terribly tragic accident which would have left most people in a therapist’s office for years; and there is that stone resolve of the master field agent that he once was, showing through in his cool composure. “I had to learn how to help her take care of herself; nothing as raunchy as you’d think.”

Even as cold-hearted as the woman is rumored to be, Jane embraces Brandt for a long moment before she puts her arm through his to be escorted to the altar – somehow everyone had seemed to think that he was not so clearly unrelated to her and she had fed some load of tragic lies to explain it all. “Which isn’t to say that I’ve never thought I’d make a great woman.” He whispers to her. The image is what lends Jane the bright smile and rosy cheeks that has their target in knots; knots all together dissimilar to the ones that she’ll leave him in that night.

V.  
Brandt’s hands are teasing against Ethan’s body, the brushes of the fingertips just so careful and delicate and nothing like they normally are under any other circumstance. He threatened Ethan when they began to make him stay still, but the agent’s always been told he’s a slut by the men who have had him before and now is no different. He squirmed, begged, and demanded more and that’s what found him with his hands tied above his head to the bedposts, leaving him free for his partner’s exploration. A finger traces a long since faded scar over his heart; the motion is delicate and filled with unspoken words of camaraderie. Brandt doesn’t need to ask where it’s from or wonder about it or apologize; he can acknowledge it with something more than that and his fingers brush just at the curve of Ethan’s hip when he tires of following the old scars.

Brandt’s breath is soft and hot against the smooth inner most part of Ethan’s thigh, and he kisses the skin there tenderly like he has never kissed Ethan’s lips. His hand moves to grab the hot reddened skin of the other man’s ass – he had warned him but it had sounded more like a dare – and his hand there now was heavy and reminded his partner of how fucking good it had felt to be chastised in that way. It was good in the same way the small bite to his sensitive skin was and Ethan squirmed against the bedding with impatient want. Brandt rewards the motion with a hand tracing the length of arousal just so close to his beautiful, shapely mouth. His fingers are just so careful and light still that the motion makes his arousal painfully noticeable yet offers no real relief. 

It would have been far too predictable for Brandt to take Ethan into his mouth then for it to happen, and so instead he breathes hot against the man’s arousal before letting his tongue work just around the inner part of his thigh still, teasingly close. He nips at a hipbone after a moment, and the bastard smiles when a groan escapes his partner; he’ll goad him for that lack of discipline later and they both know it. Ethan growls in defeat finally, thrusts upwards, and Brand takes his cock in hand, strokes it hard and slow and says nothing. He’s won their unspoken game because he, the pitiful little analyst, is still in control of himself while the great Agent Hunt is whining for more like a common whore. 

When Brandt finally takes Ethan into his mouth, it’s worth the entire wait since his steady hand rested on his thigh under the table that evening. Brandt sucks cock with the same complete devotion he has for his missions, the same composure, and the same careful mannerisms. His tongue just teases at the tip of Ethan’s cock, and he swallows before he moves down to take him in all the way, head moving back just slightly as he moves up so that the pressure is hard enough to be heard as a remarkably uncouth slurping noise. Ethan’s hands fist at the air and he’s whispering promises that being tortured would never get from him. He struggles against the bonds as he hears the man start to chuckle – laughing with a mouthful of cock is not as charming a trait as he might think – he wants Brandt to keep going.

If he had been asked later, Ethan wouldn’t have remembered when exactly it was that Brandt had covered his fingers in slick warm lube but they weren’t dry as they slid into him. Two fingers entering him at once – just a little too much to start with after so long – and the sureness of the motion gained Brandt a whine that turned into a moan as his fingers found just the right spot inside of his partner. He thrusts them in time to the way he bobs his head, pulling back to watch the squirms and trembles his friend response to the penetration with. “You slut.” He accuses with affection, and Ethan swears at him in Lithuanian. There are three fingers in him then, stretching him enough to gain a needy sound before Brandt speaks again with a teasing appreciation for his friend’s eagerness. “I bet I can fuck you just like a woman and you’ll come like a little bitch without me ever touching your cock.” 

Ethan wants Brandt now more than he’s ever wanted to be taken, and when the man slides into him slowly and firmly his head falls back against the pillows. There is no way that Brandt has only been with women, Ethan would swear it, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders where he learned all of these things if he’s only had three girlfriends. It doesn’t matter though, because his thrusts are hard enough that they would hurt if his hand wasn’t so carefully teasing around Ethan’s cock, resting just at the base of it. Another sharp thrust and he’s kissing the man’s lips harshly, the hand moving up to fist his hair and hold him there. It’s not long before Ethan comes like he was promised, both of Brandt’s hands occupied with everything but his cock. When Brandt comes he pulls out and spills across Ethan’s face; hot, white, and so deliciously shameful that Ethan hardly thinks anything of it when the man only unties his hands to make him guide it all into his mouth.

As Ethan swallows the last bit, he finds himself wondering again whoever taught straight and narrow Brandt to fuck like that.


End file.
